


In the Closet

by storygiver



Category: Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: M/M, book-based plot, brief moments of dysphoria, closet kissing, closet makeouts, deere 4 lyfe, drug and alcohol mention, jake is pan, jeremy is trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storygiver/pseuds/storygiver
Summary: Jason Finderman's parents have fled the country for Barbados, and their abandoned house lays prey to teenage shenanigans, including a brief makeout session between Jeremy Heere and Jake Dillinger in the condemned, empty hallway closet.





	In the Closet

Relentless, mechanical advice being dictated to him in Spanish wasn’t helping matters in the slightest as Jeremy darted through the sparse crowds of his peers, bony limbs brushing up against empty walls in the Finderman house. His heart is still palpitating fiercely and the adrenaline in his system is only worsening the heavy, tired feeling the ecstasy initiated. The absolute hulk of a guy chasing him hasn’t been heard since he lost him in the yard and ran back inside, but still he can’t shake the paranoid dread that he might still be gaining on him. With any luck, Chloe’s inebriated, rage-fuelled boyfriend got disoriented and gave up on hunting him down. 

Jeremy slows his feet, which nearly trip him, to carefully pry open the closet he almost flew past, this pocket in the wall concealed by slatted double-doors that opened like an accordion. It makes a distinct sound as he opens it, when the little rollers at the top of the door frame slide along the smooth metal. 

He backs himself into the pitch-dark space and hastily shuts himself inside with his palms pressed against the backs of the hinges. There aren’t handles on the inverse, so he pushes against the doors from the other side. 

It’s been less than a second since he found sanctuary in here; an empty closet in the unpopulated hall between the downstairs den and what he assumed were bedrooms. They probably wouldn’t be void of people for very much longer, given the sheer amount of grinding going on everywhere else in the house. The closet probably used to hold coats, it doesn’t have shelves, it’s just a square indent in the wall, but Jeremy still has to crouch to keep his head from hitting the rod that ran through the middle of it.

 _Buen trabajo, encontraste un lugar seguro para esconderte,_ the squip quietly drones on. He can’t understand it, but it sounds approving. Its voice only worked like this when it was trying to soothe and praise him. 

_Shut up, I can’t understand a word you’re saying to me,_ he rolls his eyes, still reeling groggily in wake of his trip. _No, wait, actually… just… shut down,_ Jeremy corrects himself, and he doesn’t hear the squip, just… breathing? It wasn’t his own. He was still quietly wheezing and catching his breath. It sounded like a sigh or… maybe a groan, like someone clearing their throat. Probably a guy, judging by the pitch.

He turns and stares blindly into the black corner opposite him, “Hello?” Jeremy whispers, voice raspy.

“Yeah, room’s kinda occupied, dude.”

The reality of a response makes Jeremy flinch, until he swallows back some spit in an attempt to quell the stinging in his throat, “Wha, who… wh-what?” he can only manage broken stammering, his voice regaining a normal volume as he assures himself Brock isn’t going to come tumbling down the hallway after him anytime soon. 

“Wow, you alright? Seem a little… jumpy.” 

Jeremy stands hunched in the darkened closet and forgets, in the moment, that shaking his head means nothing unless the other closet-dweller happens to have night vision. Doubtful. “N-No, I dropped e-ecstasy, m’not… know what I’m doing,” he mutters through chattering teeth.

“Uh… s’that Jeremy Heere?” the voice chuckles, sounding amused at the scene he’s witnessing.

“Ye..ah… that’s m-me.”

The smallest amount of light seeping through the slats in the closet doors makes it a little easier for features to catch his sight; the faint edge of a face, a sleeve-covered arm, and the side of a bent leg. His eyes can’t focus on a single point for very long, but he can tell the darkened figure in the corner is casually sitting down. 

“You’re tripping pretty hard, pal.”

Wordlessly nodding his head, Jeremy’s heavy breathing has started evening out and his arms have unconsciously clung to each other in a pseudo-hug. His mind may be in a haze, but he’s heard his name, said just that way. If he was so easily identifiable, considering how pathetic he probably looks... even in the dark, Jeremy didn’t want to be left clueless for much longer. He can’t risk not knowing who he’s sharing an empty closet with. _Startup._

 _Dillinger,_ in-tune with his thoughts, but still incapacitated by the flood of e in his system, the squip does its best to spell it out for him. _Estás hablando con Jake Dillinger._

“Shut down. Jake?” he doesn’t hear anything further from it, but he figures he’ll get a short reminder from the squip about talking to it aloud when he finally sobers up.

“Jesus, Jeremy, you need to sit the fuck down or something.”

“N… n-no, I can’t,” it feels like his joints have locked into place, but no matter how certain he is that this is just a bogus side-effect of the drugs, he can’t force his limbs to unbind. “M’stuck,” his voice is choking up like he’s crying, and it doesn’t help that his eyes are still watering uncontrollably, further obscuring his vision.

“Yes you can, you’re not stuck,” Jake grunts, shuffling forward on his knees to put his hands on Jeremy’s shaking elbows, trying to pull him to the carpeted floor of the closet. 

It still proved difficult to coax him off his feet, but Jake manages to tilt him gently towards the ground, albeit half-laying and awkwardly on his side with his legs stiffly lying sprawled out and resting now that they were, essentially, useless. 

“Relax, Jer,” Jake leans him back, shifting to let the bony junior recline against him, holding him. He hasn't done something like this since Mark Jackson got dared last summer at the bonfire to drink half a bottle of trashy, bootleg Absinthe and started gagging and sobbing before he’d even gotten more than a few gulps down. Jeremy, of all people, seemed like he deserved the reassurance. “You’ll be fine.” 

He still shivers and lies as still as he can, breathing sounding even closer to normal despite the rapid-fire muscle spasms that made him jump just a little in Jake’s lap every half-minute. 

Jeremy’s almost too overstimulated to feel it, but he senses one of Jake’s hands smoothing over his shoulder and it made him want to drift off and sleep here, hugged by the shallow, dark closet with his upper body cradled snugly in Jake Dillinger’s arms. If the intention was to get him to settle down, it was certainly working. 

“Man, you’re… really fucked up, Jeremy,” there’s a subtle, worried tone to his speech when he finally sighs and pipes up again. “I took a tablet once and it made me hyper, but nothin’ like this,” he can hear a vibration in Jake’s chest, like a soft laugh to lighten the mood, and it lulls him into a calmer state of mind.

Jeremy can only give a nod, agreeing. This is the most messed up he’s ever been. He feels like how he assumes a hummingbird might feel after chugging a shot of espresso, uncomfortably buzzing in his own skin and unable to contain the bubbling tears still running down his face after his jittery shakes died down. 

He closes his eyes and he has no clue for how long.

“Hey, Jeremy. Jer,” He didn’t think too much time had passed when he heard Jake talk again, reverberating like a hum in the confines of his ribcage and stirring Jeremy from his sharp one-point focus, staring blankly at the weird, grainy blue-black of the closet wall after coming to. “You all good, dude? Did you, uh, fall asleep?”

With his gathered thoughts and regained strength, he sits up, body still nestled loosely between Jake’s legs. He seemed to have situated himself into this very protective, cocoon-like position that gave Jeremy some comfort to acknowledge. He felt like he’d just run for hours and simultaneously been pelted with stones. “Y-yeah, I think... but... I’m not all good, this headache is killer,” he whines, keeping his voice down, volume barely above a whisper. 

“Maybe your skinny ass is telling you drugs are a bad idea,” he jokingly chides. “I think you ought’a listen to it, dude… I mean, it sounds like bullshit but a lotta that ‘the body has great intelligence’ crap’s part-true,” Jake maintains a hushed voice and changes pitch to mock the notion with a few vague gestures of his hands. 

“Sure,” Jeremy’s eyes have adjusted to the atmosphere, taking in the light the crept through the gaps in the sliding closet doors to pick up on the slightest of Jake’s movements and expressions. It’s times like these when he’s grateful he has almost-perfect vision compared to Michael. If he were a step up from legally blind, he probably wouldn’t have escaped Brock with the ease that he did. His footwork still hadn’t been elegant, of course...

“You gonna go rejoin the masses?” it sounds like he’s grinning, or maybe he cocked a brow. Somehow, Jake sounded like he wore this knowing expression on his face when he talked.

“No,” Jeremy grumbles, almost inaudibly. “I mean, is… it okay if I just stay here? My heart feels like it’s rippling... or something,” his response is small and anxious, trying to decipher Jake’s face through the shadows for an answer. From what he could gauge, however, the boy’s face was as pleasantly neutral as he remembered it being; before, in any number of normal settings, and not curled up with him in the Finderman’s abandoned hall closet. 

“Yeah,” the one-word reply gives the impression he was just caught off-guard. Jeremy pretends not to notice. “I’m definitely not goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

He feels Jake’s cautious grip on his shoulder and opposite arm, leaning him back to rest against his abdomen. 

This was comfortable. It’s intimate, but for some reason his nerves aren’t kicking in. He doesn’t register the ‘flight’ response he usually gets talking to… well, anyone. He actually feels at ease, at a house party of all places. 

“Why not?” Jeremy asks.

“Hm...?”

“Why… won’t you be leaving ‘anytime soon’...?” he clarifies. He can feel that Jake is somehow just as equally content with their arrangement. With the side of his face pressed flush against the crook of the athlete’s neck, he can easily hear the light thumping of his heartbeat which runs at a steady rhythm. 

“I’m staying the night after everyone ditches. Jason’s gonna have the whole place to himself,” Jake retorts, sounding exasperated. “I’m not the only one, though. There's probably, like, ten or twelve other people that’re gonna crash wherever. Bedrooms, floor, the fuckin' kitchen, probably.”

“Oh,” Jeremy exhales. For once, he’s not concerned with how unnecessary his comments feel. 

“I just wanted to chill somewhere peaceful, y’know,” he adds. “I would’ve locked myself in a bedroom or something but I figure some lucky fuckers are prob’ly gonna have a better use for it than me.” 

“Right... yeah.”

“Now we’re both chillin’ in a closet,” Jake murmurs. It feels like he’s the one carrying the weight of their conversation, now, rambling a little, taking over Jeremy’s proverbial place as ‘the one who always seems to talk to much’. It suited Jake better. He could make anything he said seem cool or interesting, even when he's oversharing like it's nobody's business. “Reminds me of the last time I played ‘spin the bottle’ in, like... middle school.”

“How does sitting in a closet remind you of spin the bottle?” still weighed down by the drowsiness of his post-high crash, Jeremy can only nudge his head. His face is tucked nicely between the frame of Jake’s jawline and collarbone.

“You’re kidding, right? Seven minutes in Heaven, usually takes place in a closet, Jer, I thought that was, like, common knowledge,” Jake scoffs, befuddled.

“Those’re the same thing? Seven… seven minutes in Heaven and spin the bottle’re the same thing?” He’s still speaking through his intoxicated stream of thoughts.

“Uh, well, no, they’re not the same… not... really. Have you ever even played spin the bottle, dude?” 

Jeremy’s silence seems to be enough of an answer.

“I mean, it’s a little cringeworthy for my tastes, now, but it’s kindof a… I dunno, a normal thing? Like what any kid with a reasonable social life has done before… but I guess you’re not… any kid with a reasonable social life... huh.” 

“I’ve… never kissed anyone, at all, let alone played a party game,” Jeremy mumbles, cutting through the jock’s tangent to actually answer him. If he’d been in the right headspace, he would’ve made a crack about closets and how much this one resembled a confessional. He’d only ever seen them in movies, granted, but he bet it would’ve been a creative quip, had he actually made it. 

“Oh, for real? You’re not…” Making what felt like a signature Dillinger head-tilt, he pauses. “ _Y’know_ … with Michael Mell?” 

Jeremy’s shoulders tense as he feels Jake’s hand unfurl from around his back. “ _What_ with Michael?” he wanted to come off sounding affronted, but instead he can tell by the sound of his cracking voice that he sounds confused… and maybe intimidated.

“I mean you guys act like virgins, for sure, but… the general consensus says you’re, like, banging,” he expected Jake to sound more condescending, like he wanted to hear that fake niceness shatter into a million pieces and make way for the real Jake Dillinger, the Jake Dillinger that gossipped, cheated, only acted like humanitarian when he wanted to manipulate people… this seemed… so characteristically kind-natured, it felt so unreal. “Katrina and Jenna talk some mad shit, but I’ll take your word for it, if you n’ Mell’re—”

Tears welling in his eyes make his cheeks prick with the pins and needles of an oncoming sob, “We’re just friends,” he whimpers. It’s so easy to cry, so it just happens. Jeremy’s face hadn’t even dried from his hysterical ecstasy-induced weeping.

Jake goes completely still, in shock at the sight he assumes he’s been the cause of; a very sad and pathetic Jeremy Heere shaking and starting to bawl. “No, no—no no no no no, Jeremy, dude,” he keeps his tone soft, it’s a conscious effort. “That’s… it’s not what,” Jake huffs a defeated sigh.

“I-I know people… talk about me, I know they do, it’s just,” his breath hitches. The nervous lump in his stomach is getting hard to ignore. “I’ve n-never heard that one before, I didn’t know people were… saying,” he’s cut off again by a sharp breath his lungs force him to take in, and he doesn’t bother finishing the thought.

“Rumors are shit, I know-”

“You don’t know,” Jeremy interrupts, lifting a hand to clumsily wipe at his cheeks and disperse the half-dried tears, eyes getting cold with the wetness. “I don’t think you know anything about rumors,” he mutters, catching his breath, form tense despite still leaning against Jake.

“Hey, I’ve had my fair share, Heere,” he sounds more exhausted than offended. “It’s not like I don’t know how this high school bullshit works, bud, I get talked about, too. Not like how you are, but it’s still shit, a'right,” Jake is quick to correct himself. He knows full well he can’t empathize with the _'life-shaping'_ experience that comes with being a freak. It’s easier for him. The worst that can be spread about a guy like Jake Dillinger is a rumor about him being bad at sex, and at least he was getting some. 

Jeremy’s tears relent again and he hopes that’s the last of them for the rest of the night. It hit him like a flash flood, starting without warning and stopping at the slightest notion of comfort. 

Comfort. That was a rich concept. Comfort from Jake fucking Dillinger. He finally entertains the thought that Jake’s kindness isn’t a facade, that he’s genuinely one of those guys who sees beyond the borders of cliques and searches for the good in all his peers. That just sounded too good to be true, and yet he hadn’t given Jeremy a single reason to doubt that it’s all authentic... that it isn’t an act.

“Jeremy, are you okay?” Jake gives him a slight jostle, arm returning to Jeremy’s back like a half-hug. 

His heart rate skyrockets, feeling Jake’s hand brushing against the edges of his binder, thumb slipping over the hem at his shoulder. Jeremy nods. That’s all he can do, or all he can offer up as a decent answer. 

“Listen, I’m… sorry.”

“For what?” he gups.

“M’sorry you’re… having a shit night… that people talk about you like they know you, and like they don’t care how you feel,” his heartfelt tone isn’t kidding anyone, it’s. “You don’t… deserve this shit.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t know what I deserve,” his back relaxes and he breathes a muffled sigh. After his prolonged minutes of tension, it feels like a weight off him to just sit there limply. 

“Well, for starters, it’s a true crime you’ve never been kissed,” Jake responds and it sounds almost like he’s kidding.

“What…?” an embarrassing snort resonates in the tiny space with Jeremy’s short-lived giggle.

“It’s not like you’re unlovable, or unfuckable, even,” he keeps up the joke with his underlying tone of seriousness. 

“As much as I wanna believe that, it’s fundamentally untrue,” Jeremy sniffles a bit, in this limbo between the tail end of his crying and the start of a laugh-sprinkled neutral calmness. 

“You really think? I mean,” Jake doesn’t miss a beat, “ _I’d_ kiss you.” 

Something like a blank numbness followed by a stinging after-sensation slides through him, like he’s just swallowed something hot and it’s uncomfortably settling in his stomach. “You’re... just saying that… to make me feel better,” Jeremy stammers to rationalize all this aloud.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but it’s also kinda true.”

He doesn’t know, anymore, if he’s still just as wildly high as he was when he burst in here, and if that’s why he isn’t mustering a more shocked reaction, or if his subsiding ecstasy rush is what’s doing him in, but he still can’t think of anything to counter something like that. He said it with too much solid earnestness to brush it off as an exaggeration. Jake was speaking the truth.

“ _Can_ I kiss you?”

“You’re… drunk,” Jeremy takes a blind stab at him again, wondering how well this would pan out; trying to double-check with all his possible deal-breakers. His conscience, his real conscience—not his squip—is there urging him to take this. While anyone could pop open the closet doors and find them, there’s no one here in the moment to call him 'gay' for it. It's... as ideal as it can get, despite the circumstances.

“I’m not, actually. I had, like, half a beer... three hours ago,” Jake has started to shift a little where he sat on the carpet, sitting further upright, like he’s actually going to give this a whirl. “That’s it, I’m sober, scout’s honor.”

“Jake, I-I’m not a girl,” he blurts, panicked. The back of his neck feels cold and his limbs are growing prickly with goosebumps. “I’m not… I’m not a girl,” he repeats, anxiously gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I… I know,” Jake sounds surprised, stunned at the stern, shaky affirmation. “Jeremy, I know,” he stops moving, giving the other as much space that he can offer in the cramped corner. “You’re not a girl, that's not what—”

“Then wh-why d’you wanna _kiss_ me? _Me?!_ ” 

“Jeremy,” Jake says his name again, firmer. “Listen, this is… I’m not exactly straight, it's complicated.” Swallowing the last of his words, he lifts an arm to grasp at the back of his neck, fingers toying with the roots of his hair down the back of his scalp. “I know it’s, like, the 'default' n' all, but… it’s not that I see you as a girl, I know you’re not. It’s that… I know you’re just as much a guy as I am. That's... why..."

A lengthy silence hangs between them and Jeremy stills. “I… oh.” God, there’s no way he was lying, but at the same time he never would’ve guessed, he’d never assumed. Not that it was unreasonable. The infinite cosmos probably love Jake Dillinger, his perfect charisma probably earns him all the karma points a guy could ask for... and Jeremy actually _judged_ him.

“I still want to kiss you,” Jake clears his throat and speaks in a hushed tone, it feels as if he’s trying to be suave. He forces the smoothness in his voice and the change is obvious, at least to Jeremy’s trained ear. Now that he’s heard a full range of Dillinger’s emotive self, it sounds so foreign to hear his pretending return. 

Only a scoff comes from the other.

“It’ll be our secret,” although the facade remains, remnants of his looser personality seep through and persuade him into taking this opportunity. Neither of them had very much to lose. Jeremy certainly had plenty to gain.

Upon figuring that a nod wouldn’t suffice in the darkness like this, Jeremy muttered his acceptance. He feels almost smitten at this, flattered beyond belief. “O-Okay,” he blubbers, an obscene giggle not trailing far behind.

There’s something delayed in the way he processes it—Jake pressing his lips to Jeremy’s. Had they not been locked together, he would’ve gasped at the sensation, eyelids fluttering. He expected Jake’s mouth to be somehow tougher, but his lips are soft like his own. The realization warms his chest with a radiating heat. 

Fuck, he tasted like cinnamon, not like the bland fleshiness he expected—like the inside of his cheek or the underside of his tongue. His mouth tastes of cinnamon, there’s no doubt about it. Like spiced chewing gum. Big Red.

Gently, Jake shifts and moves his jaw, parting from Jeremy for a mere split-second before repositioning his grip, his hands cupping each of his shoulders while he sheepishly rested his own on Jake’s upper arms, mirroring his touch. 

Jeremy hasn’t taken a breath and his lungs are starting to sting, leaning into the kiss before turning his face away. He pants for air and Jake eases off, yet still hovers close with his face following the other’s. 

“What's wrong? You okay?” he seems to be doing a good job keeping himself calm, smoothing the sides of his thumbs over the balled joints of Jeremy’s shoulders, giving them both a reassuring squeeze. 

He levels his breaths, nodding, “I-I’m fine, I just… didn’t wanna breathe on you,” Jeremy exhales in a staggering huff. “That… sounds stupid, m’sorry.”

“It’s not stupid, just... pace yourself... n' breathe out your nose,” he reluctantly reconnects with Jeremy’s parted lips, just for one, solid smooch. “You can breathe on me, too, I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t need to have his eyes open to feel Jake’s wide grin, the strain he feels at the corners of his lips is enough to clue him in. Soon enough, he’s greeted by another kiss, slower, gentler than their first, but it still has Jeremy red-faced and breathing heavily, moving his head to the side once again when it feels like he can’t time his exhales right. “S-sorry.”

“Just relax, it’s not the end of the world,” he jests. Jake takes the moment to adjust his posture and embrace around the boy nestled in his lap. Not wanting to rush it any more, he lets Jeremy squirm a little where he sits between his thighs to get comfortable, tentatively placing one hand at his hip. Jake cups the other against his cheek, coaxing Jeremy’s face out of the collar of his jacket. “Your face is hot,” he grins again, sincere. 

The faint feeling of nuzzling against his palm evokes a thankful, validated sigh.

“Don’t sweat the breathing thing, you’ll get it eventually,” he sympathizes with a convincing tone. 

It did, much to Jeremy’s delight, get easier to manage. The longer each of their lip-locked connections lasted, the more at peace he felt himself becoming. Taking light breaths was effortless now that he was practically melting in Jake’s arms. Not, of course, before he'd made several slip-ups distancing his mouth to calm himself and take in air.

Jake paces himself with the rookie, kissing him tenderly, taking note of each, small mannerism and movement to know just when to bear down or let up, tongue patiently moving to only brush against the inside of Jeremy’s lips, not teasing, but almost previewing; giving him a sample of the feeling, testing his reaction. 

At the first few flickers of his tongue, Jeremy grows pleasantly flustered once again, but doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t want to spoil this, he feels like he could do cartwheels or fall asleep, the action produced such a dual reaction, he can’t pin it down. 

The white noise of the party in the background grows quiet with the sounds of soft tunes and toned-down chatter. People were leaving, passing out, and sobering up while they slept on the floor, the couches scattered throughout the house, covered in sheets or slippery plastic. 

When Jeremy finally pulls away again, he’s still hot in the face, but satisfied. All he wants to do is slumber here for the night on Jake’s chest, like this is the epitome of calm and everything he’s ever wanted. 

“How’s that for a first kiss?” just as he settled back down to rest his head in the now-familiar crook of Jake’s neck, his voice sounds; a rumbling, muddled string of vibrations and echoes in his chest catching his ear and forcing his gaze upward. It isn’t his trademark cyborg kindness, Jeremy can tell it isn’t the same, sincere, questioning tone he’d maintained for the past… hours. He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been here, or who remained mingling outside the accordion washboard doors of this closet.

“S’good… more than good, I dunno,” he mumbles, voice trailing off in a muffled squeak. It’s a lot to take in; his heart is slowly beating, finally, but his mind is running a mile a minute. “Th-thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jake seems just as happily content, but starts to straighten his legs with the occasional pop in his joints, flattening the bend of his sitting knees. Although he doesn’t want to leave, Jeremy accommodates each of his micro-movements, which then turn into slow, guiding steps as he props himself up into a standing position against the closet wall. 

Jeremy still sits in a small clump on the carpet, until he feels Jake tap his shoulder gently with the tips of his fingers, offering the silhouette of his hand out for him to grab hold of. 

Obliging, he’s met with a strong grip, and Jake’s other hand, steadying him as he’s pulled to his feet. “You gonna be good? Need a ride or anything?” 

There’s something in the way he treats this like a casual occurrence that disheartens him, Jake wiggling his fingers between the crack in the slat-covered doors to pry them open as he waits for Jeremy’s answer. 

“N-No, I’m okay, I… drove here, I need to go… find someone, too,” he bashfully stammers, taking a deep inhale of the hall air once Jake manages to push the folding doors aside, smooth, like he knew exactly what he was doing without fail. The confidence in it, alone, was enough to make him swoon ever so slightly. He can hardly believe he admitted to driving here and, for the first time, it isn't a fib. It's a night of firsts. 

“Okay,” he pauses, and now Jeremy can see all his features. 

The lights are all off on this side of the house but moonlight streams in through the next-door bathroom window and it paints half his face in an unforgettable, pale blue. Jake is enchanting. 

“It was nice kissing you, Jeremy.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [my tumblr](http://www.cornheck.tumblr.com/) sometime if you wanna gush about ships.  
> thanks so very much for all the wonderful feedback thus far! i honestly do thoroughly enjoy ask spam, alright? ask me for headcanons. i'm always ready to answer with any and all of my over-wordy responses... i have many, many headcanons i'm eager to share with curious fellow fans of the novel / musical. 
> 
> **note: do not leave comments or kudos if you are a hamilton fan. you humanize slave-owning rapists of american history, you're disgusting and i want nothing to do with you.** please refer [here](https://hamiltonisshit.tumblr.com/) for resources provided by black and first nations mods and authors that disapprove of the disgusting glorification of the framers or 'founding fathers'. this is a note that applies to all of my content, and is especially relevant in a fandom where fans of the bmc musical are also fans of a musical that glorifies real-life slave owners. 
> 
> if you're going to be willfully ignorant and ask me why i don't want you commenting, it'd probably be best if you educated yourself and made an attempt to understand why it is wrong to glorify and humanize the real men who are portrayed in hamilton: an american musical, the real men who actually owned human beings. the real-life slave-owning rapists who you are so hellbent on drawing cutesy fucking fanart of. if you can't see why humanizing slave owners is wong, just leave. kindly leave. do not interact. it's that easy. 
> 
> comments will now be moderated to ensure comments are not left from unsavory and bigoted individuals.


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